


Truth be Told

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Banter, Fluff, M/M, Thorin is an actual teenager, Truth Serum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 04:10:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3796219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In search for a late-night drink, Thorin accidentally stumbles upon a truth potion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truth be Told

This wouldn't do. No matter how many hours he had kept tossing and turning on his cot on the ground, sleep would simply not come. The other members of the company were sleeping safe and sound — if Bombur's loud snoring was any indication.

So Thorin got up, albeit a bit grumpily, shooting a quick glance at the Hobbit who had made his bed next to him. Orcrist and the halfling's little letter opener were leaning against the wooden wall, the weapons ready and at short distance should the bear decide that were not welcome in his lodgings after all.

Making sure his steps were quiet — as quiet as they could be with his big boots — he made his way over to where he knew Beorn's pantry to be. It was stocked up with all kinds of vegetables, honey, cheese, even some fruit.

But he wasn't looking for food. What he needed was — ah, there it was. Dark, red, and perhaps a bit dusty on the outside, but still unmistakably wine. He turned the bottle over, trying to get a closer look at the label. The fancy writing looked far too Elvish for his liking, and he almost put the bottle down again, but then stopped to contemplate.

Well, if the pointy-eared bastards were good for anything, it was viniculture. At least this meant that the liquor was strong. Hopefully strong enough to let him sleep. He unscrewed the cork to take a long sip, put the bottle down again and closed the pantry door behind him as carefully as possible.

"What are you doing?" a voice behind whispered.

He turned around, facing a rather perplexed looking Hobbit. "I needed a drink."

"We have bottles filled with water in—"

"I was not speaking about water," Thorin interrupted him.

"Oh."

"You are the nosiest creature I have ever encountered, do you know that?" He almost put a hand on his mouth. He might have been thinking the words, but he certainly hadn't meant to say them out loud.

The halfling didn't reply at first, but just stood there, gaping. Then hurt crossed his features, and he quickly composed himself. "You know, I thought we had gotten past that. I thought... Nevermind."

He formed one of this small, polite smiles of his, ready to turn on heels, but then Thorin found himself speaking up once more. "I am sorry."

The Hobbit stopped, and turned around again to face Thorin, his eyebrows raised questioningly. "Thorin, are you all right?"

"Yes. No. I don't know." What was the matter with him? Wasn't he able to answer a simple question anymore?

The halfling came closer, worry now filling his features. "Mahal, you're so short," Thorin blurted out.

"What? What's wrong with my height?"

"Nothing. I am just not used to people being shorter than me." All right, there was no way he would ever admit something like _that_ out loud. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong.

If possible, the Hobbit looked more dumbfounded than before. Then he came even closer, reaching out to put his small hand to Thorin's forehead.

"What are you doing?" Thorin asked. The hand on his brow was comfortably warm and dry, and unbelievable soft. So unlike calloused dwarven hands. It felt... nice.

"Checking your temperature. You feel a little flushed."

"Your hands are so soft."

The hobbit took a few moments to process, then he jerked his hand away, staring up at Thorin in shock. "All right, you are definitely sick. This isn't normal."

Thorin felt his cheeks turn hot, and he desperately wished he had simply stayed on his cot, never mind the sleep. Truth be told, he would rather be having a sleepover party with Thranduil right now, than face this humiliation. He dared a glance down at the Hobbit, only to realize that he was blushing as well.

"You look cute when you blush." _Mahal, please tell me this is just a bad, though incredibly vivid and real-feeling dream._

"Thorin, what exactly have you been drinking? Moonshine? Absinthe?"

"Some Elvish wine," Thorin admitted.

"Well, how many bottles is some?" Bilbo asked relentlessly, one eyebrow arched up.

"Just a sip! I did not even drink a full bottle. And stop looking at me like that, you look like Dori."

Bilbo tilted his head, still trying to make sense of the situation. "Show me."

So they walked over to Beorn's pantry together, while Thorin rather felt like a chided child that had been caught doing something it wasn't supposed to.

Thorin pointed a finger at the bottle in question, then turned around to close his eyes and pinch the back of his nose, while the hobbit was examining the liquid.

"Thorin, do you know what this says?" Bilbo asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"No. I have never bothered to learn Sindarin."

Then he heard some chocking noises, and he quickly opened his eyes again. Bilbo was standing in front of him, the bottle of wine in one hand, the other raised to cover his stifled laughs.

"What's so funny?"

Bilbo opened his mouth, but then broke down in laughter again. "Oh, Thorin."

"What is it? Is it bad?"

"What? No. Well, yes. Depends. It's— it's a truth potion."

Thorin felt like someone had just punched him in the gut. "Truth... potion."

"It does explain your odd behavior."

"Says someone who feels the need to eat seven meals a day, no matter how short we are on provisions. You should be as fat as Bombur by all means, but you are merely a bit chubby around the middle."

Bilbo stopped laughing. "Is that what you think of me? Why am I even asking— of course it is. You drank a truth potion, you are not even able to lie right now."

"And you have this habit of rambling."

"Can you at least try to hold back? I don't want to know what kind of rude things you think of me, to be quite frank."

Thorin felt utterly tired. He didn't want to argue with the halfling. He just wanted to sleep, for Mahal's sake. He rubbed his eyes in exasperation. "Don't tell Fili or Kili."

"But who knows what kind of side effects this could have—"

"Don't tell them."

"Thorin."

"Don't."

"But at least Gandalf—"

"Especially not Gandalf. That wizard has the discretion of a troll."

Bilbo slumped his shoulders in defeat. "All right. Fine. Then let's just think about this for a moment. There needs to be something we can do."

They closed the pantry door again, and sat down on the enormous dinner table at the back of Beorn's lodgings. Thorin fought hard to be quiet for the moment, when there so many things running wild in his head, trying to force their way out of his mouth. Bilbo was sitting beside him, deep in thought.

"Beorn was right. You really do look like a bunny." So much for keeping quiet.

Bilbo raised his head, glancing over at Thorin. "Excuse me?"

"With the nose, and the ears, and those fidgeting hands of yours. It's distracting."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Have you come up with an idea of your own?"

"And you're bossy. And so incredibly grumpy at times." Thorin tried to stop, but the words just kept tumbling out of his mouth, with no filter whatsoever.

Bilbo gasped. "Me? I am grumpy? Thorin, you are the most grumpy, brooding person I have ever met. And I have grown up with Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, so that's saying something." He gave a sigh, burying his face in his hands.

They sat together in silence again, Thorin shuffling uncomfortably on his seat, while Bilbo remained in this brooding position, his hands gripping the ends of his curls in exertion. The he let go, turning around to face Thorin. "I'm sorry. I don't think there's anything we can do. Maybe it's best we just wait for it to be over. That effect cannot possibly last all that long."

"I thought if there was someone who would come up with a solution to this," Thorin made a vague gesture with his hand, "then it would be you."

Bilbo furrowed his brows. "What is that supposed to mean now?"

"You're clever." Thorin felt the heat rising in his cheeks again. "No, you are brilliant, really."

Bilbo just kept staring at him in astonishment. "I... Thank you. I suppose," he said after a while.

The silence that followed could only be described as awkward.

"I need to thank you as well," Thorin broke the silence.

"What for?"

"I'm in a rather inconvenient situation at the moment. You could have taken advantage of that, and could have asked me all kinds of things, and I wouldn't have been able to refuse you, even if I had wanted to. But you didn't. So... thank you."

"You're welcome. But wait, what things are you referring to?"

"Dwarven secrets. Knowledge about our political affairs, our sacred culture and—"

"Thorin," Bilbo interrupted him. "I assure you, I don't care about getting any information about... Dwarven secrets out of you. Not in the slightest, I promise."

"Well, what _do_ you want to know, then?" Thorin asked, before he could stop himself.

Bilbo looked taken aback by the question, and he closed his mouth, taking a moment to think. "You said you thought I was brilliant."

"Don't remind me."

The triumphant smile that formed on Bilbo's face was a rare, genuine one, not one of those polite, forced smiles he usually displayed. No, this was entirely real — wide and teeth-showing, with laughter lines forming at the corner of Bilbo's beaming blue eyes.

"You look beautiful when you smile like that." Damn this truth potion. Damn it and the accursed tree-shagger that had the stupid idea to brew it.

The smile died on Bilbo's lips, and they parted slightly in wonder. He traced the movement of Thorin's eyes with his own, and then seemed to realize that Thorin was staring at his mouth. Bilbo cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away to look at the ground, a blush creeping onto his cheeks.

"I really want to kiss you right now." He would hunt down that damned potion-maker himself.

Bilbo didn't reply, seemingly speechless for once.

Thorin had to put a stop to this — now — before he could possibly do any more damage. He gave the Hobbit a curt nod, then got up from his seat, ready to return to his cot and forget that this night ever happened.

Then there was a small hand tugging at his sleeve, holding him back. "You are very strong for your—" Thorin started to say, but his words were lost as Bilbo pressed his mouth on his, pulling him back on the bench.

Thorin remained frozen in shock, his hands lingering awkwardly in the air at the Hobbit's sides. Bilbo pulled away again at the lack of movement, his face flushed. "I'm sorry. I thought— You said—"

"I did," Thorin managed to say, still stunned at the turn of events.

Bilbo's hand was still on his arm, gripping the fabric tightly. Thorin raised his own, placing it over Bilbo's, gently rubbing his thumb over the knuckles.

He leaned closer, placing the lightest of kisses on Bilbo's cheek, then to the corner of his mouth, then on the lips. Bilbo responded, opening his mouth under the pressure of Thorin's tongue, raising his hand to grip Thorin's hair, pulling him closer.

Thorin released other Bilbo's hand, using both of his own to cup the halfling's face, the kisses getting more and more desperate. A warm, soft hand moved under his shirt, pressing against the hot skin, sending tingles down Thorin's spine. A soft moan escaped his lips and Bilbo reluctantly pulled away, giving them both time and space to catch their breath for a moment. They remained close, their foreheads pressed together, looking into each other's eyes.

"I have been wanting to do this ever since you hugged me on the Carrock," Bilbo breathed against Thorin's mouth.

"Truly?" Thorin asked, his voice hoarse.

"Well, I'm under no truth potion, so I suppose you have to take my word for it," Bilbo chuckled.

"I trust you."

Bilbo smiled and gently tugged at Thorin's braids, pulling him into another tender kiss. "I'm glad."

Thorin smiled against Bilbo's lips, leaning into the kiss. Bilbo made a content humming sound, and then—

"Thorin?"

Fili?

"Kili, I've found him."

What was happening? Had they been too loud?

"Uncle, wake up."

The world around him dissolved in the matter of seconds. The warm, comfortable pressure of Bilbo's mouth was gone, the wooden bench underneath them disappeared. Reluctantly, Thorin opened his eyes, blinking a few times to make sense of his surroundings. Food, bottles of wine… Why was he lying in Beorn's pantry?

Fili was towering over him, his face filled with concern. "Uncle, why have you been sleeping in Beorn's pantry?"

"I…" Sleeping?

Fili waved with an empty bottle. "Did you drink the whole bottle last night?"

He hadn't. He… Mahal. He had been dreaming. He had drunken the entire bottle of that accursed Elvish liquor and had fallen asleep in the skinchanger's pantry. And he had been dreaming about—

"Did you find him?" Bilbo turned around the corner, shooting a confused glance at the image of Thorin lying on the ground, surrounded by food and empty bottles. He was sure that his hair was reduced to a dark, chaotic mess full of tangles, and — if the headache was any indication — the rest of his face had to look like an exhausted wreck as well. He was probably drooling, too. 

Thorin felt the heat rising in his cheeks, and he averted his gaze, looking anywhere but the Hobbit.

"Thorin, are you all right?"

"You won't believe it, but when he woke up he had the goofiest smile on his face." He would disinherit Fili.

"Really?" Kili suddenly barged in.

No, he would disinherit both of them.

"Yes! What were you dreaming about, uncle?" Fili grinned.

"Or who?" Kili singsonged next to him.

"I'm not even going to pretend to know what this is about," Bilbo said, and disappeared around the corner again.

Disinheriting was not enough. He would exile them. Send them somewhere far, far away, together with the last few shreds of his dignity. And his crumbling sanity. And his undeniable crush on a certain burglar.

Damn the Elves and their wine-making skills.

**Author's Note:**

> I had a bad day and I needed to write some fluff to cheer myself up.


End file.
